Mallory thinks big. And I can't keep up.
Here are a smattering of examples.
I come home from work one day to find her busy at her desk. "Mommy, I'm making invitations!" she said. Invitations for what, I asked, and she said, "I'm inviting all my neighborhood friends over for a Girl Scout meeting!"
"But Mallory, you're not in Girl Scouts," I said.
"That's okay! They can come over and we'll just pretend we're in Girl Scouts! We'll do crafts, and have a snack -- do you have stuff for s'mores? -- and we'll dance! See, here's my invitations, I said for them to come over Saturday at six."
"Oh, honey, I don't think this is going to work. I'm not even sure what we're going to be doing Saturday at six."
"But I have to invite them over! I made the invitations already and I'm ready to put them in their mailboxes! Please Mommy?"
"No, listen, how about you just wait and see if Maggie and Lizzie can come play on Saturday afternoon. You don't have to send an invitation, you can just go knock on their door--"
"But Mommy, then it won't be a Girl Scout meeting!"
As it turned out, she did end up playing with the neighborhood girls most of Saturday. Toward the end of the day they came in from the yard and Mallory said, "It's time for Girl Scouts!" Thinking fast, or maybe not, I just passed around some construction paper and glitter markers. The girls drew. "Isn't Girl Scouts fun?" Mallory said. The older girl, who is actually in Girl Scouts, came over to me and whispered, "Isn't this just kind of a playdate?"
Another day, I came home to find that Mallory was planning a Candy party. What's a candy party? It is, apparently, a party at which you play Candyland, and eat candy, and make gingerbread houses, and eat more candy, and hit a pinata, and eat more candy, "and, Mommy, we have to decorate our slide like a giant candy cane." The party, of course, was at 6 o'clock on Saturday and she wanted all her friends to come.
Last night, she came downstairs with a sheet of paper in her hand. "Mommy, I've planned the games for Phoebe's birthday party," she informed me. "We're going to play 'Farmer in the Dell,' have you heard of that game?" I answered with a tentative "yes." "I have it all written down who is going to be who," she said, handing me the paper. Sure enough, there was a chart of the players. Phoebe was the "chiyald", Mallory was the wife, friend Stephanie was the cat, friend Tiffany was the dog, and friend Toney was the "chese." I told her that the game sounded like fun. She then spied the roll of wrapping paper I'd bought that day and said, "Oh! I need all that wrapping paper to make cards for everyone at the party!"
It's neverending with that child. I feel bad sometimes for trying to put the brakes on her. I hope she never loses this enthusiasm, this creativity, this imagination. I also hope that we don't have to have a party every single Saturday, at 6 o'clock, for the next twelve years.